(with thanks to PJ Harvey)
….– I don’t think we will meet again.
Lets meet in Spain,
this life of possibilities only in dreams
the fixtures of taps and fittings
the button on a cardigan
This mess we’re in.
Too late now you gone
only dreams keep you strong
your sandal strap
your underwear sweat
This mess we in.
What was it you wanted
what were we thinking
don’t ever change
but, you must leave now
before the sun rises.
…And, thank you.
It Opened with a Prayer and straight to the Finances and there
the chair paused …as figures, graphs and charts coloured our debt
and black (and still too white),
and then new buildings, projects, plans and strategies tight.
A whispered comment about administration
and possible letting go, fusion, collusion, mission vision,
redress, speculating on your undress, and reassess for success
on raising donor funding
while foreign currencies declining.
We waded through a pink and yellow effluent
minutes, ours, calendars and pretenders
directors, secretaries, representatives of constituencies
all now home this mess
whiskey, zoll, to expel the in.
And seeing you there
ring on your finger
or was it a cord?
The tired lines around your eyes
the fatigue wrung out,
and down to the strap on your heel
as you turned away
the turn graced and placed at once
my tongue your ear a gold stud.
You bent to pick up parcels
milk, celery and canned tomatoes
I couldn’t remember
you then, another day
and queue all gone.